Poison and Glass
by maelmorda
Summary: Sarah had dreams. Locked away and languishing, but still present. Always waiting for her to let her guard down.
1. Chapter 1 - The Prelude

**Author's note**:

Based on Jim Henson's Labyrinth

Originally posted on LJ community Labyfic on Jan 19, 2015 under my personal journal name.

**Content warning:**

Although the majority of this work is suitable for Teen and up, certain chapters contain scenes of violence and extremely bad things that I don't wish to spoil, but if this was a movie they would not show it in theaters. Fluffy Jareth is not found within.

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

The playwright perched on a stool, bent laboriously over the manuscript. Dipping his quill in the ink pot, he carefully wrote the final lines of the play, and set the feathered pen down with a smile.

Once the ink was dry, he would stitch the pages into the leather-bound book, and loose it into the world. And then – he would wait.

It never took long for mortals to find his books, foolish creatures who wanted to believe, and would say the words. It was a story he never tired of telling, perfected over centuries of re-writes. Polished and trimmed until only the bare bones remained, sharp hooks in a simple tale baited to lure the dreamers and wishers who lived above.

He leaned back, stretching. With a nimbleness at odds with the long hours spent hunched over a table, he sprang to his feet and strode to the window to survey his domain. Without thinking he retrieved a faded length of ribbon from his pocket, and worried the frayed material out of long habit. Age and use had destroyed its colour, it might have been white, or silver. His sharp gaze studied the ever-shifting walls of his kingdom, and his thoughts turned back to the book.

Guilt-driven, those who survived an encounter with the Labyrinth would try to atone for their selfishness by tracking down every copy of the book they could find. They wanted to destroy it, hoping penance could be achieved by saving another family from suffering the same fate.

Therein lay his trap.

Self-flagellation spurred them into old bookshops, and hushed conversations with book dealers, and over the years the red book acquired a quiet infamy. Any serious book collector had fended off inquiries about it. Sometimes it seemed the book had disappeared entirely, only to surface in an estate auction where it would spark a bidding frenzy, or found locked away in an attic, a treasured heirloom waiting to be passed down.

It was truly tragic how often a family who lost one child would continue to lose others throughout the generations.

_Such a pity._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1 - The Prelude<strong>

The sky was the colour of old metal, and the air was sharp with the promise of snow. Ice glittered on the bare branches that scraped against the side of the house. From the comfort of her kitchen, Irene Williams sipped her coffee as she watched the barn owl perched in the old poplar tree.

The bird had a habit of haunting their garden, and was often spotted gliding slowly and silently during the twilight hours, ghosting past the house to settle in the trees, where he would remain for hours, still as a statue. Irene assumed it was a male due to his handsome plumage; when he spread his wings, the coverts and mantle feathers were bronze and silver-gilt. Dazzling, and... slightly gaudy. All she could glimpse at the moment though was a heart-shaped mask of ivory feathers.

She smiled, remembering the day they moved into the house. A new start for their new family, Robert had said. Sarah was complaining, as was her custom, and then suddenly Sarah was shrieking as a white blur appeared out of nowhere to snatch the ribbon from her hair. Robert dropped the box of china, Sarah dropped Toby, and Irene grabbed the broom. The bird soared into the air, red ribbon dangling like viscera. The baby had bounced on the grass and let out a wail to shatter glass, and great-aunt Mildred's dishes were never the same. The bird returned the next day, but never dive-bombed them again. Their relationship with the owl became one of wary respect.

Irene looked down at the stack of old photographs spread across the table. There was a picture of Toby and Sarah at the lake, each hoisting their end of the massive fish they had caught. Toby was about six, so Sarah was doing most of the hoisting, and they both looked so happy. In the next one, Irene was pretending to be horrified as the children brought the fish close to her.

She smiled as she flipped through the stack. Sarah pulling Toby on a sled. Toby covered in dog fur after he gave poor Merlin a hair cut. Toby with his head resting against Sarah's knee as she read him a story, sitting in the shade of the big oak tree. The four of them on a boat.

Times had certainly changed. If someone had predicted that her willful, spoiled step-daughter would form a bond with Toby, or the rest of her family, Irene would have snorted. She had thought to herself many times that she had rushed into marriage with Robert, and raising Sarah was a thankless task. But Sarah had changed. Inexplicably, and seemingly overnight, Sarah had changed.

But every now and again, Irene wondered if the change was for the better.

* * *

><p>The bang of the trunk closing startled Irene out of her reverie. She held the door for Robert as he brought the groceries inside. He set the paper bags on the counter and kissed her, and she started unpacking what he had brought.<p>

"I think animals are getting in through the attic again," she informed him.

"What'd you find?"

"I was putting fresh sheets on Sarah's bed this morning, and I found a feather. Sitting right on her pillow."

"Anything else?"

"No. The window hasn't been opened since she was home last."

"Humph. Maybe Toby left it there," Robert said, head stuck in the fridge as he re-arranged some things. "I'll take a look later just in case."

"Maybe," she replied, and let it drop.

_Maybe_.

What she hadn't told her husband was the way the feather glowed. It was the most eerie thing. The feather was surrounded by a globe of shining light. Her hands still tingled from picking it up. She had run her fingertip down the edge and the feather sprang right back up. She lifted it closer to examine it, but the glow faded away with an audible hiss, like a candle fizzing out.

The lamps had flickered. A cupboard banged shut somewhere in the house. Spooked, she dropped the feather and exited the room, closing the door behind her. It seemed ridiculous now but, she didn't want Sarah going into that room. It felt... hungry.

* * *

><p>It seemed as though Sarah has been gone forever. She stepped through the door and shuddered, and a tension left her as the sights and smells of home flooded her senses.<p>

"Hi!" she called. "I'm home!"

"Hi honey, in the kitchen!" her step-mother called. "Coffee's on."

Sarah unzipped her old leather jacket, frowning at the gouged leather. She tugged her boots off and turned the dead bolt behind her. She side-stepped a book bag and walked into the kitchen, where Irene was setting the table.

"Sarah, you've changed your hair." Irene blinked, and stared closely. "It looks great!"

"I did? Oh yes, I did, thank you," Sarah replied, tucking a lock behind her ear. "Dinner smells great,

what is it?"

"Your father's making ribs," Irene replied.

Sarah closed her eyes in bliss. "Ooooh," she murmured. "I haven't had those in forever." She held out a bag towards her step-mother, "I brought wine."

"Thanks honey." Irene smiled. "How's the new job?"

Sarah dropped into a chair and shrugged. "The job is great. The boss, not so much."

"When is the probation period up?" Irene asked.

"End of January. If I last that long," Sarah replied glumly. "She's awful. I thought it was just me at first, but it's not just me. She's like that with everyone."

"Like what, exactly?"

"Moody. Unrealistic expectations. She's got a bee up her – hey Dad!" she called, as her father entered the kitchen.

"Sarah!" he hugged her tight. "Welcome home sweetheart! Toby!" he hollered, "your sister's here!"

From upstairs came a loud thump, and the heavy clump of someone taking the stairs two at a time. He barreled into her. "Sarah!"

"Hey little brother," she smiled. "Happy birthday!"

* * *

><p>"Nothing's happening," Sarah snapped testily.<p>

"You're doing it all wrong!" Toby said, and flipped to a new page in the book. "Try this one."

Sarah sighed as she closed her eyes. They had been trying for half an hour. "Give me that."

She thrust her face into the book and stared at the neon green lines. Her eyes began to water. She pulled the book away slowly, staring intently. "Come on, come on..."

"You need to look _through_ it Sarah, not at it," her brother crowed.

"Some people can't see 3D images, honey," her step-mother said. "It's something to do with impaired depth perception."

"I give up." Sarah handed the book back, and stood up. "Well kiddo, I hope you enjoy your present. At least it works for one of us. Give me a hug."

She waved goodbye to her father and Irene, and ruffled Toby's hair affectionately. "Happy birthday Tobe."

"Are you sure you won't be back tomorrow for supper?" Dad asked.

She smiled ruefully. "No can do. I've got a date. See you all next week!" She turned the key in the ignition, and the interior of the tiny hatchback boomed with music. She backed out carefully, mouthing "I can't hear you" to her family's shouted questions, and waved as she drove off.

* * *

><p>Sarah eased up on the gas pedal. Maybe it was that second cup of coffee, or squinting into that silly book, but everything on the road seemed to twist tonight. There was a shimmering outline along the edge of the road, the tree trunks, the traffic signs... she rubbed her eyes with one hand. A white spot appeared in her vision. She blinked hard. It was gone.<p>

There was a mild thump. She pumped the brakes and pulled over onto the gravel shoulder. With a sinking feeling, she stepped out of the car. A bird lay in the road.

She approached slowly, horrified at what she had done. It was an owl, it wasn't – but it _could_ be - her owl. _Oh no, no._

The bird twitched feebly, but it made no sound. She knelt beside it carefully, extending a hand to cradle its head. It slashed at her with its beak.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "I'm so sorry. I didn't see you, I didn't mean to!"

_Oh, you didn't?_

"Please don't die. Gobl – bird? Please don't die."

Blood bubbled up from its beak, and the eyes turned glassy. The bird lay still.

She picked it up gingerly, and brought it over to the trees, laying the small body down on a bed of leaves and grass. Red feathers clung to her hands. She sank to her knees and sobbed.

* * *

><p>Up-ending a bottle of lilac bath salts into the steaming water, Sarah winced at the heat as she sank into the bath, forcing herself to stay submerged. She tipped her head back against the rim of the clawfoot tub and closed her eyes.<p>

_It wasn't my fault._

Birds shouldn't fly so low. That didn't take away from the awfulness, but it was an accident. She would not have harmed it on purpose. And animals died every day.

_Then why does it feel like - _

She drew her knees up slightly to sink further into the tub, and her hair floated in the water, undulating against her wrists like seaweed. Her thoughts spiraled further and further away, to the dreams – _nope, not gonna think about that_ – to work – _maybe tomorrow_ – to her upcoming date with Philip – _this time he's going to kiss me, if he doesn't, I'll_ -

"I had fun tonight," she said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Me too," Philip smiled, his brown eyes warm. "Would you like to have dinner on Friday? I heard good things about the new pub downtown."

She smiled. "I'd love to. Pick me up at seven?"

"Seven thirty okay?"

"Okay."

They were standing close together, close enough she could breathe in his aftershave, they just had to lean in a little bit – but she didn't want to – _come to me, come to __**me**_ – she stayed still, and he smiled, gave her arm a lingering caress, and turned away. She watched him drive off, and exhaled pent-up breath slowly, unsure if the feeling riding her was relief or disappointment – _but next time he's going to kiss me, next time_ –

_**Next**__ time?_

Sarah opened her eyes and her mouth in tandem, sucking in a huge mouthful of water. She couldn't see anything, but something was holding her face underwater, someone was holding her down... she could _feel_ fingers clamped against her jaw, holding her – her lungs were going to burst – it was pressing on her face, her eyes burning from soapy water. Her hands scrabbled desperately at the edge of the tub for purchase, her legs thrashed wildly – and then, it was over. It – whatever it was – was gone.

She leaned over the edge of the tub, retching up bathwater and heaving. She stumbled from the tub and slammed the bathroom door shut, locking it. Pulling a towel tightly round herself, she checked the room carefully, but it was empty. She took a deep breath to steady herself, and quickly yanked up the tub chain. A movement caught her eye.

She looked at the fogged mirror. Water ran down it in trickles, in lines, like fingertips tracing down...

"NO!" she said firmly. "No." She wiped the surface clean, and clutched the tightly.

She turned all the lights on, and checked each window and door. What she would give to have Merlin here - _get a grip Sarah – just your imagination – there's nobody here_.


	2. Chapter 2 - Another Moon

**Chapter 2 – Another Moon**

(Six months after the great collapse)

Perched high above the Goblin City, the king sat on the stone window ledge of his drafty throne room. Reconstruction was slow after his chief builder had failed him, and the wind whistled through the gaping holes in the floor. Judging by the ache in his bones, he had been sitting there for some time. He gazed at the great edifice, his thoughts drifting and unfocused.

Although it was not a traditional labyrinth, it was not a maze either. By design a labyrinth should have one path leading to the centre, and back out again, whereas a maze had many twisting ways, meant to confuse. A labyrinth led you down the garden path where something fearsome was contained. He smiled.

He was consumed by his desires, and unsure, for the first time in his long life, uncertain how to proceed. Losing the game was unthinkable but there it stood. He was not the victor this time. Defeat was humiliating, and absolutely infuriating. There had never been a time when he was denied. He had never been forced to re-consider his approach until now.

He closed his eyes, which was a mistake, as her face, ever hovering on the peripheral of his vision, came to mind. At first glance she had not captivated him. Hers was a visage more striking than beautiful. Over the years it had become dear to him, and he could recall every feature with clarity; an oval face dominated by green eyes that held secrets, like peering into the shadowed woods. A straight nose, and a generous mouth accented by a beauty mark above the left side. Dark sable hair which tumbled down her back. Oh how he loathed that face, and that foolish, horrible phrase she had loosed on him.

So different from any of the others. They always got lost in the maze, or conceded victory unto him. A lazy smile spread over his face as he recalled those sweet concessions. Sometimes there were tears, somethings – other things.

To his consternation he knew he was the author of his own destruction. What had compelled him to fly up there that fine spring day, what had pulled him back to park again and again? Why did he allow the book to fall into those dreaming hands? He could have omitted the words that were his doom, but if success was guaranteed, there was no sport in that. He could have left her to rot in that oubliette, but something about the petulant cast to her mouth persuaded him to send the dwarf to free her. He had wanted to break that spirit. He wanted to watch her face when she realized she was back at the start. And from then the course had been set. She left him in ruin.

Yet still... could it be possible?

A smile broke across his face, dawning like a terrible morning on an empty sky. She had accepted his gifts, she had appropriated his subjects without payment, she had eaten his food. She violated the ancient customs of hospitality. And most damning was her treatment of his gift, the crystal which contained her dreams. She had looked within it, when the only choices presented were to take the gift or renounce it. She had dared to touch the orb, and that was most certainly cheating. Rules could not be broken with impunity. She had stolen a piece of his magic and in getting it back, that would give him a chance to get her back.

A plan began to form.

He would make her love him. He would force her to admit it, and then, he would throw it back in her face. She would die, old and alone, knowing she had thrown away her one chance at happiness and adventure. His name would be the constant regret on her lips, and there could be no balm to soothe that pain. He grinned. He would bide his time, and make his preparations. This was a game that would take years to unfold.

Whistling a jaunty goblin ditty, he strode from the throne room.

* * *

><p>Settled in the diminutive chair at the base of the horned throne, Sir Didymus slept. An entire morning had passed while he worked on the tireless chore of updating the king's maps, only setting down his quill in temporary defeat once the the lines of the great mountains began to blur into the northern sea. The green plume in his cap fluttered as he snored softly, and he dreamed of his youth, the meadows where he had played with his brothers, where his family still held lands in the gentle foothills, far away from the great maze.<p>

His repose was shattered by the wail of a child, who no one tended.

He sighed uncomfortably. Their capricious ruler never used to neglect his charges, and would ensure his new subjects were fed and comforted. Before everything changed. Then he who had once been stern became cruel. A culture of benign neglect turned into callous indifference.

"I have decided to take a journey," the king had announced one day, after the last stone sank into place with a tortured groan. "You will look after this place until I return. Remember your promise, sir knight."

Sir Didymus had nodded, and given the king his assurances, and wished him safe travel. For a few days, reports of the white owl trickled in; flying through the dark forest, roosting in the orchards, soaring above the passages of stone, even the treacherous water gardens. Searching for something. And then the tales of his journey became scattered, and harder to discern truth from fiction, rumors claiming the king was spotted as far away as the shifting dunes of the great desert which fled into the eastern sea, flying towards peaks of the great mountains which no man claimed, and through the abandoned mines of the old goblin kingdom.

Looking down at the map, the knight groaned. With a furtive glance at the open window, he pushed the map to the side of the small desk, and turned his attention back to the letter he has been composing before he fell asleep. He penned a few more lines before the crying became full-fledged wail.

"Ho, you there!' he called to a small goblin running through the hall. "Dost thou play games while the king's guest is in distress?"

The goblin tittered and shifted from foot to foot.

"I charge thee to see to the child's needs, in the king's name."

The goblin quailed visibly and gave a tiny nod.

Sir Didymus rubbed his eyes and turned back to his letter.

* * *

><p>The owl soared high above the foothills that marked the beginning of the maze, the warm morning air pushing him effortlessly above the scurrying creatures below, and away from the petty troubles which ailed his other self.<p>

Today marked the end of the search. Triumph surged through his hollow bones, fiery elation pushed him faster, the feelings of the other one pulsed like a heartbeat. The owl flew on. Clenched in his beak was a sparkling treasure. The misshapen towers of the castle crested the horizon and he adjusted his path.

The noon sun was behind him now, and nearer and nearer he drew to home. His wings ached, but the will of the other pushed him forward. The weight of what he carried would have pulled him to the earth long ago, but the wind at his back tingled with the magic of a formidable will, pushing him on.

_Soon you can rest_.

* * *

><p>Hoggle slid the tip of his knife under the wax seal and jiggled it loose. He recognized the even scrawl at once.<p>

_Friend Hoggle,_

_It is with a weary hand I write to you. I should not complain though, in the king's mercy I have retained my post as a knight of the realm, where many would not be so fortunate. Forgive me if that sounds insensitive to your plight, that is not my intention._

_I worry for Brother Ludo. Regrettable, most regrettable. I hoped to visit him again before the moon wanes, but he refuses all company._

"Regrettable?" Hoggle muttered angrily. "Vicious is more like it."

_It has been eleven weeks since His Majesty has been spotted. I heard rumors he flew over the Singing Sands when the moon waned last. I sent two of my knights to entreat him to return, alas they returned in defeat. If he was there at all, he is long gone._

"Good riddance," Hoggle sniffed.

_The castle echoes with the cries of abandoned babes. Who will care for them? I will not shirk my duty to the kingdom, but I fear the needs of a child eclipse my own abilities. The goblins run wild in his absence. And creatures more frightful. Just last night a flock of night feathers were spotted over Goblin City, and never have they ventured so close to the king's domain. If he does not return soon, I fear for our safety._

His reading was interrupted by a knock at the door, and the dwarf peered out the window cautiously before opening the door. You could never be too careful in the Labyrinth.

* * *

><p>Like an arrow the bird shot through the window of the throne room, landing gracefully in a flutter of wings which flashed and lengthened into a cape, and the body of a man strode forward. He wore a loose sleeved black shirt tucked into dark breeches, and his boots clicked rapidly across the floor. His gloved hands were clenched around something, and the smile on his face caused the goblins to scatter. Sunlight glinted off the amulet that hung from his neck.<p>

Sir Didymus looked up from his desk hopefully.

"Welcome home sire!" he said, good eye shining with sincerity.

"Out. All of you," the king commanded. He strode across the room and took the left exit, climbing the stairs to his tower eagerly. The old door was locked with a charm of binding and sealing, and the air shimmered as he stepped inside. The torches sprang to life and he threw the shutters open.

He approached his work station, a table of worn oak, hewn from a tree in the heart of the maze, the ancient wood was smooth with age. He set down his treasure carefully, a small piece of goblin ore, veined with purple and blue striations. He fetched a silver basin from tall shelves along the wall, and an old dagger, forged in the great goblin wars long ago. Rummaging around the various odds and ends, he selected a pouch of tiny diamonds, and a white feather from his perch.

He scanned the room once. Impatiently he thought of his garden, and snapped his fingers loudly. A potted belladonna appeared on the table.

He tugged his gloves off impatiently.

As he worked he sang, a low, tuneless song, which caused the goblins in the courtyard to cringe from the sound. Hours passed and the stars in the underground sky appeared slowly.

He pressed his lips to the lump of metal.

"Lodestone to guide her."

He drew the dagger across the tip of his thumb. "A blood oath to bind her." He set the bloodied rock into the basin.

The diamonds were emptied into a mortar, which he ground slowly and methodically into a fine powder. "A mirror to reflect her heart."

He poured the diamond dust onto the lump of ore, and added three stalks of the belladonna plant and the feather.

"Poison her dreams." he whispered, and set the mixture afire.

The acrid smoke burned his eyes but he did not look away. His song intensified, and the walls thrummed with the power of his magic. Finally, it was done. The contents of the bowl has solidified into a black orb, the size of a melon, which pulled the light inside itself. He put his gloves back on before picking it up. It sat heavy in his hands. It was a curse worthy of a queen.

He caressed the orb gently, and the colour shifted, lightening ever so slowly. Shades of silver and bronze and pure white began to swirl, the orb began to expand and shudder. The orb cracked apart and a struggling creature stumbled out. Wet sinew snapped and bones popped. He ached in sympathy for the thing in transition. It was owl, feathers coated in glittering slime. He washed it tenderly, the bird sat docile on his arm.

"Ah, my fine friend," he said affably. "Far away you'll fly, and long will you be gone. You will watch my prey for me, won't you?"

The bird studied him with an unflinching gaze.

"Watch her, and the spell imbued within you will do all the work. When the time comes, your blood is the key that opens the gates of the Labyrinth. Draw her blood so I can call you home. I know you won't fail me."

He stroked the feathered head, which was identical to his other form. "Because you see, our lives are depending on it."

He set the bird on the table, and it took a few steps gingerly before flexing its wings experimentally.

"Yes, like that."

He laughed abruptly, and the goblins below cringed to hear it.

"'ware the king," they whispered.


End file.
